


Not Right in the Head

by qualitystreet



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 14:46:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualitystreet/pseuds/qualitystreet
Summary: Everyone's called Robert a psycho one time or another. How right they were.





	Not Right in the Head

**Author's Note:**

> 6/10/2017 - Since originally posting this, I've made some minor changes to keep it more canon compliant.
> 
> **This fic has one big spoiler based on speculation about what's going to happen at the end of the week. I think most people are already thinking it, but I've put the - possible - spoiler in the end notes.* There's also ableist language/gallows humour throughout.**

The doctor asked Robert what he remembered of the past few days. It wasn’t exactly a hard question, Robert had never had trouble with his memory before – he could remember every moment of his mother’s death and the days following, for instance – but he was momentarily stumped.

“Do you remember where you were,” the doctor said, “before you were here?”

Home Farm. He’d been up there, doing... something. Rebecca had been twittering on about that-- thing inside her. He’d been in the kitchen, looking at the collection of spirits on the side. Chrissie was there now, back in the saddle. She saw him the way he really was, she knew his game – she sneered at him as he tried to hold steady, as his mind raced, too fast. He’d been to that awful class with Rebecca, he’d had to touch her stomach, had to smile, had to bite down when the simpering teacher had called him Rebecca’s boyfriend. She had fairly lit up at the thought of it. 

Liv had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, but Robert couldn’t get near. He’d visited the Mill later, he’d seen that-- that man, that _doctor_ ; had seen the two of them, Aaron looking up at him like he used to look at Robert, and it felt worse than being shot, it felt like he’d been flayed open.

“Robert,” the doctor said softly. “Try to stay on track.”

Rebecca wouldn’t stop talking. All he heard was baby, baby, baby, you’ve ruined your life, no one loves you, everyone knew this would happen, you’re just like your father, let’s paint the nursery yellow – mustn’t be gender essentialist! He’d picked up a bottle of single malt whisky, stared at the label while she kept going. It was worth a few hundred quid, at least.

_He’s kicking! Feel!_ she’d cried and grabbed his hand, tried to make him touch her again. He’d yanked himself away, stumbled back into the counter.

That had been it, the world tilting on its axis. He’d started screaming at her, started screaming that he hated her, that he hated the creature inside of her, that he wished she’d miscarried, that she would die along with the baby, that he’d killed her like he killed Katie, like he killed Max. She’d clutched at her distended stomach, her breath hitched, eyes wide and blinking, and the fear in her face, the hurt and terror, only made him angrier, made him come close and shout at her, his spit hitting her face.

He’d broken the bottle in his hand, he didn’t remember when, but he had and his arm was bleeding, bright red rivulets winding down his wrist and dripping onto the floor. When Lachlan had ridden in to the rescue, Robert had swung around and clocked him in the face with the stem of the broken bottle. Had tried to, anyway, but Lachlan had dodged it and punched him, throwing Robert backwards. His head had hit something sharp, he thought, maybe the edge of a cabinet. Pain had bloomed at the base of his skull but it didn’t stop the mad rage inside of him and he’d reared up again, taking a swing at Lachlan. He’d rarely been violent with his fists before, only his words, but it felt good. It felt right, like the only right thing in the world, the rush, the exhilaration; now he understood why Aaron lashed out so often. 

He remembered people shouting, Lachlan holding him back, the kitchen door being slammed shut with Robert inside, hammering on the door, smearing blood all over the wood. The last thing he remembered was chugging half a bottle of brandy. No diazepam on hand, but it was something.

“And where are you now, Robert?” the doctor asked.

He looked around the white room, the metal bed he was sitting on, the blue papery curtain pulled around the bed. “The hospital,” he said. He held his left arm out and looked at the bandage wound around it. “What happened?”

“According to Ms. White, you cut your arm with a piece of glass and said--” the man referred to his notes for a moment, “--‘if it’s good enough for Aaron’.”

“Oh,” Robert said.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Robert, you were brought in this morning. You were highly distressed when you came in and had to be sedated.”

Robert blinked back at him – that accounted for why he felt so calm, he thought. The doctor watched him carefully before continuing.

“The doctor on duty made the decision to keep you here for assessment under section 2 of the Mental Health Act.”

“So, I’m crazy,” Robert said.

The doctor hardly reacted at all to that, just the merest purse of his lips. “We believe you had a psychotic episode.”

God, he’d been _joking_. “Been called a psycho enough times,” he said thinly. “Guess I shouldn’t surprised.”

“Robert, I know psychosis has a lot of connotations, but it’s a stress reaction like any other. Are you comfortable beginning the assessment now?”

He shrugged, though it felt hard to move his limbs, like he was stuck in quicksand. “I don’t think I have a choice, do I? Go ahead.”

The doctor asked him about his health, about his emotional state from day to day, his relationships with others, what his thought process had been while he was up at Home Farm, what he filled his time with, if he’d self-harmed before. 

Robert thought he had given pretty good answers – he’d been tired, he was understandably upset about the breakdown of his marriage, he’d been stressed about the baby. He hadn’t self-harmed before, but his ex had and sometimes he thought… When Robert had put that piece of glass in Aaron’s hand and urged Aaron to cut him, he wished Aaron had. He deserved it, that pain, the punishment, to lift that burden from Aaron’s shoulders.

The doctor remained stony-faced throughout, as Robert grew too tired to continue speaking. He went away and left Robert to fall asleep to the dulcet tones of a grown man on the other side of the ward crying.

-

It took only a couple of days for a nurse to inform him that the psychiatrist had gone ahead and sectioned him and that he was being moved up to the Mental Health Unit. Robert tried to make a fuss, demanded a lawyer and a phonecall, refused to be moved from the general ward. He fought the security guards who were sent to subdue him, shoving and hitting at them, backing himself into a corner. Everyone was shouting, maybe him most of all, and he plastered himself to the wall. He could barely think with the sleeping pills they gave him, ironies of ironies, and grabbed the closest thing to hand to brandish at them – a lamp plugged into the wall that wouldn’t come out when he tugged at it. The guards had cleared the other patients out and if they had guns, he’d be shot by now, he sluggishly thought.

“Robert!” Vic’s voice cut through the din.

He clung onto the lamp; it must have been a trick or his imagination or, or--

“Robert,” she said again, ducking around one of the guards who was trying to shoo her back. She’d been crying, eyes red and wet tracks down her cheeks. “Put the lamp down, okay?” she said, and smiled slightly, her bottom lip shaking.

He looked at the black, bendy stem of the lamp clutched between his fingers for a moment, then dropped it on a bed. Vic reached up and curled her hand around his cheek.

“Please go with them,” she said.

He swallowed. “I don’t want to,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said, and sniffed. “I know you’re… scared. But you need to, okay?” She wiped her thumb across his cheek and he could feel that it was damp there, that he was crying too.

“Okay,” he mumbled and wrapped himself around her in a hug.

-

They put him on anti-anxiety pills to start with. He told the nurse he wasn’t _anxious_ , he was _angry_ , but all she said was that he could discuss it with the doctor. 

“And when will that be?” he asked.

“Soon, love,” she said, with a patronising pat on his arm.

She told him the name of the little white pills, but he forgot it almost immediately. They didn’t half stop him caring about the awful surroundings, though.

He saw the Consultant Psychiatrist a couple of days later. He’d been in the hospital for five days, he thought, though time seemed to move quite strangely here and he couldn’t account for every hour. It must have been the pills. He’d started chewing on his nails, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, either. His right thumbnail got the majority of his attention.

The doctor was a funny little man with tea-stained teeth, the top of his balding head reaching just above Robert’s shoulder. He twitched and hurried around the room, looking for this and that and nervously laughing that he hadn’t been in here before and didn’t know where anything was. He reminded Robert of Paddy.

“Mr Sugden,” he finally said, settling down in a chair with a huff of air. “I’m Dr Barry. Can I call you Robert?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, “look, I don’t need these anxiety pills.”

The man blinked and smiled at him. “All right, why do you think that?”

“Because I’m not anxious.”

Barry kept smiling, as if Robert was some kind of backward child. “Let’s talk about how you feel from day to day.”

“I’m fine.”

“Would you say you’re normally happy?”

Robert snorted. “I just broke up with my husband, I’m hardly dancing on the ceiling.”

“It can be hard to get over a relationship,” Barry said with a nod. “I spoke with your sister earlier, she said the split occurred in July.”

Robert’s back tensed up. “Oh, sorry, am I taking too long getting over it?” he bit out.

“The grieving process is different for everyone,” Barry said carefully, holding his gaze for a moment before scribbling something down on his pad. Robert clenched his fists and willed himself to stay seated. “Can you tell me how you feel about the break up?”

“I’m… empty,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. He hadn’t meant to say it, but his hands had started to shake and it felt as if it was all just under the surface, like he’d crack open any second. “It was my fault, always is. I got her pregnant, I knew he’d leave me in the end, but-- we were married. Only we weren’t, not legally, and it was so easy for him to walk away. So easy, he’s already moved on to someone else. No one else cared, either, not even Vic. It was like they all expected it to happen, like our marriage was just playing pretend. Aaron said as much – it was a joke, _I’m_ a joke.” His voice had been steadily rising, he realised, and he snapped his mouth shut, bringing his thumb up to bite down hard on his nail.

Barry reached into his bag and retrieved a bottle of water. “Take as much time as you need,” he said, and Robert shakily took the bottle, twisting the cap off, and drank for a minute. Barry watched until he put the bottle back down on the desk, then spoke again. “How do you feel from day to day, physically?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Tense.”

“Do you have heart palpitations or feel overly aware of your heart beating?”

Robert looked back at him and swallowed. “Sometimes,” he admitted. More than sometimes, if he was being honest. Barry nodded and jotted that down. “Most of the time,” he suddenly blurted out, and met Barry’s gaze in surprise.

“Do you have intrusive thoughts – involuntary thoughts you can’t get rid of?”

He pressed his lips together. “Yeah.”

“What about?”

“I dunno. Er, Aaron’s new boyfriend, her and that baby, what everyone’s saying about me behind my back.”

Barry nodded and didn’t push. “Let’s talk about the incident that brought you here.”

Robert said the same things as last time, the yelling, the blood, pacing around the kitchen like a caged animal, fighting with Lachlan. He felt oddly removed from the memory, like he was just recounting something he’d seen on the telly.

“I attacked him, didn’t I?” he said. Barry inclined his head slightly. “Why haven’t I been arrested?”

“Mr White has declined to pursue charges against you,” Barry said, and Robert could hardly believe that was the truth. Lachlan would do just about anything to be rid of him. Then again, he was in the nuthouse, so Lachlan was pretty well rid. “Was this the first time you’ve had an incident like this?”

Robert opened his mouth. It wasn’t, was it? It wasn’t the first time his brain had clouded over and he’d done something terrible, unforgivable. Aaron tied to that radiator, Paddy – Paddy, of _all_ people – gently talking him down when he was frozen by indecision. Max and Andy in that car, Robert’s foot spasming over the accelerator.

“Robert?”

He twitched and looked at the doctor. “No.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Robert bit down on the inside of his mouth. Doctor-patient confidentiality didn’t stretch to admitting to crimes, he was pretty sure, and kidnap, ABH, and murder were definitely up there. “No,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Barry said slowly. “Could you tell me anything about it, without going into specifics? How long ago or who was involved?”

“It was-- the first time was when I was teenager, with my brother. The other time was a couple of years ago, with my ex-- ex-husband.”

“What’s your relationship like with your brother?”

Robert snorted humourlessly. “Not good. He killed my mother.”

Barry’s eyebrows shot up and Robert laughed again, straightening in his chair. “He killed your mother?”

“Yeah. The farm wasn’t doing well, so thicko decided to do an insurance job, burn down the barn. But Mum was inside and she burnt to death while I was outside watching.”

“Well,” Barry said, visibly gathering his thoughts. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone it was his fault.”

“Was he ever caught for it?”

“Spend a couple of months inside eight years later.”

The room was quiet for a minute, but for the scratching of Barry’s pen. “And when these incidents were happening, how did you feel?”

He shrugged. He couldn’t rightly remember much about those days. He knew he was angry, he knew it felt like his head was full of cotton wool and his body was burning up, he knew he found the weight of betrayal crushing, but whatever was going through his head when he floored the accelerator, when he cocked the gun, was mystery.

“All right,” Barry said. “You said before that the breakdown of your relationships are always your fault. Can you explain that?”

Robert sighed. “I’ve never been faithful to anyone, even when I really loved them. Even when I can’t--” His stomach swooped uneasily and he picked at the rough woven material of the armrest. “Even when I can’t live without them.”

“This is Aaron we’re talking about?”

Robert nodded quickly. “He was sent down for attacking someone, I was left to look after his sister and the businesses and everything. He got-- he had trouble and he pushed me away and I… cheated on him with my ex-wife’s sister. I cheated on my ex-wife with her sister, too, and got her pregnant once before, but she had an abortion that time. Not this time, though, this time’s she’s ‘ready’ to be a mummy while she’s still sucking from her daddy’s teat.” He stopped himself, hearing the acid in his voice, and drew a shaky breath. “I cheated on my ex-wife with Aaron, I cheated on an ex-girlfriend with my ex-wife, I had an affair with my brother’s fiancée while I was dating one of our friends, cheated on her with an older woman…”

“So, it’s a pattern,” Barry said simply.

Robert laughed bitterly and rubbed his face. “You could say that, yeah.”

“When did you become sexually active?”

“Sixteen.”

“And have there been any significant gaps in your sexual activity since then?”

He shook his head.

“How many times do you think you’ve been in love?”

“Er--” He picked at the armrest again. He’d loved Katie, he knew that, he remembered that, and he’d loved Chrissie, even if a large portion of that love was for the life she could give him. He’d been dating a woman for a while when he met her at one of Lawrence’s parties and he knew that was the way in, the way up. He’d spent months romancing her, sure she was on side before he’d dumped his girlfriend and gone in for the kill. He’d grown to love her.

Aaron, though; he’d never felt anything like it before. He’d never felt like someone could so easily break him down and build him back up. He’d never wanted to submit to that before.

“Three times, I guess,” he muttered eventually. “But only Aaron-- only Aaron was the real deal.”

“Is Aaron the first man you’ve been in a relationship with?”

He took a breath. “Yeah. I… buried it for a long time. I-I’m bisexual.”

He still felt a burn of shame at the admission, but Barry only smiled encouragingly. “Why do you think you can’t stay faithful?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes it’s boredom, sometimes… I like to hurt people. I want them to hurt as much as I do.”

“Do you… try to hurt people a lot?”

Robert took a shuddering breath, his eyes suddenly warming with tears. “Yeah.”

“Does it make you feel better?”

Robert clenched his jaw, dropping his head forward. “No,” he said quietly.

“All right,” Barry said softly, as a few tears dripped down Robert’s cheek. He wiped at them furiously and shook his head. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“How long do I have to stay here for?” 

Barry stood up and Robert followed him, not exactly trying to intimidate him but certainly using his height to his advantage. Barry’s eyes flitted a little nervously, and Robert tried not to be pleased at that. “Section 2 allows us to keep you here for an initial twenty eight days.”

“ _Initial_?” 

“Robert,” Barry said firmly, tipping his head up to look him in the eye. “We’re only here to facilitate the best possible care for you. It’s possible that with the right treatment and appropriate support at home, you’ll be able to leave sooner than that. But even if you can’t, it isn’t a punishment, even if the food isn’t that good.” He smiled as if he was pleased with the joke, and Robert grimaced back in response. “And please, stay on the anxiety medication, just for the moment, okay?”

It wasn’t as if he had the choice to turn it down – they’d just force him to take it, he’d seen _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_. “Fine,” he muttered.

“There’s a good lad,” Barry said cheerfully. “I hear they’ve got Mars bars ice creams for dessert tonight.”

-

He had group therapy the next day. He didn’t volunteer anything, same as most of the others there, though there were a couple of all stars who clearly relished the limelight. Relished it so much that Cindy, the chirpy do-gooder straight out of uni, had to ask them to give the others a turn.

“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” one of the chatterboxes said across the circle after they’d all struggled through listening to a straggly-haired teenager stammer through her sad story of not being loved enough by her parents. Join the fucking queue.

Robert looked up at the guy, a greasy looking guy with a very round head. “Don’t think you do, mate,” he muttered.

“No, I do!” he insisted, as Cindy tried to shush him with a murmured, ‘Gareth, please’. “I do, it was…” He clicked his fingers and grinned. “You were in that pile up, weren’t you, Hotten Bypass? I saw your picture in the paper. ‘Local businessman saves boyfriend from sinking car’, it said. That was you, weren’t it?”

Robert glanced around the group – everyone was paying attention now, Cindy wasn’t trying to stop Gareth any more. “Yeah,” he said shortly.

“Legend!” Gareth said, and Robert almost smiled, the kid reminding him of Adam, even if he wasn’t anything to look at. “You were totally underwater, right? Like, the other fella was drowning, wasn’t he?”

“Gareth,” Cindy admonished quietly, then looked at Robert. “That must have been very traumatic, Robert, would you like to talk about it?”

He shook his head and looked away.

“Must’ve got you some free passes from the old ball and chain, though, eh?” Gareth chirped.

“He still dumped me,” Robert muttered.

“Aw, mate,” Gareth said, his face twisting in sympathy. “You’re still a hero, though.”

He was the furthest thing from a hero. Anyone else, he would have let die, if it’d been Diane or Adam or Ashley, maybe even Vic or Liv. He’d thought, he’d _known_ , that he couldn’t live without Aaron, that he’d rather die too than go on alone. And now he was alone and did feel a little bit like dying.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the session, his face frozen into a blank expression. Gareth hovered around behind him after, trying to apologise, but Robert sloped off to bed and missed the gourmet fish fingers and oven chips for tea.

-

Vic visited on Sunday. It was pissing down outside, rain almost horizontal, and Vic arrived in a bright yellow raincoat and wellies, the loose ends of her hair dripping where they’d escaped her hood. She pulled the coat off with a huff and hung it over her arm, then smiled nervously at him.

“Am I allowed to hug you?” she asked. She looked close to tears and the sight of it shook him a little.

“It’s not prison, Vic,” he said and opened his arms.

They hung onto each other for a couple of minutes before she pulled back and looked around. The day room was drab and inoffensive, but filled with people milling around and a low level hum of chatter. He gestured to one of the rooms off to the side that Gareth had told him they were allowed to use for a bit of privacy. Gareth was all right, twenty years old and already done rehab twice, but nice enough. He had scabs on his hands from where he picked at his skin and had him wear gloves at night. Robert didn’t know what he was in for, other than addiction, and he hadn’t asked. Gareth hadn’t asked what his problem was either, to be fair. Robert wasn’t sure he’d be able to answer that one.

They sat on a hard, unforgiving couch and Vic shoved a backpack into Robert’s lap. “Brought some stuff from home for you. Charged your iPod up and everything. Your taste in music is really tragic.”

“Thanks,” he said, and sifted through the contents of the bag. She’d got his iPod, some chocolate bars and books, and a few changes of clothes – he’d been wearing the same hospital-provided t-shirt and trackie bottoms for days now. The clothes he’d come in with were probably long go, the shirt for sure. Shame, it’d been one of his favourites.

“So… how’s it going?” Vic asked carefully. “What’s it like in here?”

“It’s… nothing,” he said, and put the bag aside, folding his hands in his lap. “It’s boring. Food’s crap, only got Freeview. I sleep a lot.” An awful lot in fact. He’d gone from months of a few restless hours on a sofa or Vic’s box spring to twelve hours or more, some days. He wondered if that was a bad thing – sleeping in had been tantamount to a sin growing up – but the nurses and doctors seemed pleased.

“Aaron’s still away, hard to reach on the phone at the moment,” she said softly. “But I was thinking that maybe…”

“No!” he snapped, and she jumped, her eyes going wide and a touch scared. “He doesn’t care about me any more. He’s moved on.”

“Oh, Rob…” she murmured, and reached out to touch him, but he pulled back sharply. She looked hurt.

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” he added quietly.

She swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Um, Rebecca--”

One of his hands spasmed, his nails biting into the skin of the other and he felt a white hot bolt of rage go through him. Vic’s eyes went wide again and she grabbed his wrist, tugging his hands apart. 

“Okay!” she said. “I won’t talk about her, I’m sorry.”

The rage didn’t dissipate, though. She’d wanted it, hadn’t she? Wanted him and Rebecca to be pally, wanted him to play house and buy baby shit and paint nurseries. She’d pushed, pushed, _pushed_ them, him and Aaron, until Aaron broke under the strain and Robert had shattered, his life a pathetic mess ground into the mud.

He yanked himself away and stood up. “You should go,” he said in a low, rough voice.

“Rob…” she said, standing up too, though he noted that she kept her distance, held herself taut, as if he might try to hurt her. Maybe he would, he thought, maybe… 

He snatched the bag up and ran, down the corridor and back to his room. He wanted to scream, he wanted to break something, but there was nothing to break in here, just a metal bed and chest of drawers, nothing he could get into trouble with. He had nothing left.

“Robert,” a nurse called, and he spun around to face the door. Vic was behind her, face as white as a sheet. His hands were shaking.

“I don’t want--” he said, looking at Vic. “I need something to…”

The nurse was a step ahead of him, with a couple of pills and a bottle of water. She closed the door on Vic and sat with him as he curled up on the bed, waiting for the pleasant drift of sedation to kick in.

-

“One of the nurses told me you became quite distressed yesterday, when your sister visited,” Barry said.

Robert still felt leaden down, from the sedative or perhaps just the comedown from his outburst. It’d never come over him that quickly before, he had never felt so close to the surface before. He’d frightened Vic; maybe she wouldn’t come back again. 

He tipped his head in agreement and chewed at his thumb.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“She started talking about Rebecca,” he mumbled.

Barry nodded once. “I see. How did that make you feel?”

“Angry. I lost my rag, couldn’t control myself.”

“You strike me as someone who likes to be in control,” he said.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“That’s true,” Barry said, and looked down at his pad. “Let’s talk about your early life.”

Robert snorted. “Is it all my parents’ fault, then?”

Barry ignored the comment. “Your mother died when you were fourteen?”

“Yes,” he said, then frowned. “Well… she wasn’t…” He grimaced. “She was the only mother I knew, but she didn’t give birth to me. My mum died swerving to avoid sheep on the road when I was four months old.”

“Four months?” Barry repeated. “How involved was your father in raising you after that, as far as you know?”

“Not very. He was a bloke’s bloke, didn’t do feeds and change nappies. My gran did all of that, I think.”

“Were you close with your grandmother?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“And your father?”

“No,” he said with a thin laugh. “Why?”

Barry hemmed and hawed a moment before taking a breath. “There’s something called an attachment disorder – it’s generally diagnosed in children. It can occur when an infant is unable to bond, primarily with their mother, prior to the age of three years old. There haven’t been many studies on the long term effects, but I have seen patients display a lack of ability to trust others, consistent provocative behaviour, and a lack of empathy. On the other hand, adults who were diagnosed as children can be adept at putting on a front and be obsessively loving towards their partners.” He shifted in his seat awkwardly as Robert stared at him. “Does that sound familiar?”

Robert opened his mouth, then closed it. His heart beat hard in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured.

Barry smiled sympathetically. “It’d be nearly impossible to diagnose at your age, but we do see comorbidity between that and some personality disorders.”

Robert took a breath, trying to shore up some strength. “So, it is my parents’ fault that I’m such an awful person?” he tried to quip, but just sounded pathetic.

“You’re not an awful person, Robert,” Barry said, with a little reproach in his voice. “Tell me about Aaron.”

Robert laughed, a short, unpleasant bark of laughter. “Well, if we’re talking about me being awful… I had an affair with him while I was preparing for my wedding to my ex-wife. It was only meant to be sex – I kept saying I was straight, even when we were fucking on every available surface.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Barry chuckled and gestured for him to continue.

“I couldn’t let him go but I wouldn’t leave my wife, either. We--” He shuddered, remembering those days at the Lodge, leaving Aaron tied to a radiator over night. How could he have done that? How could he have ever even contemplated--

“Robert,” Barry said softly.

Robert twitched and kept going. “We had a fight and he told her everything. He hated me, I could feel it in my bones. I thought that was it, over, but… then his father came to the village. He’d raped Aaron as a child, I was the first person he ever told, even though he hated me. There was a trial and I supported him through that, that and his self-harming.” He glanced down at the white bandage stuck on his forearm. He’d seen the cut the last time the nurse cleaned it, it stretched from near his elbow a few inches up towards his wrist, on the outside of his arm. Even psychotic like he’d been, he’d avoided the delicate skin and veins of his inner arm. “I told him I loved him all the time, I had all the way along. He never said it back, but I guess he came around to me after that.” He’d meant for that last part of be a joke, but it didn’t sound much like one even to his own ears.

“Your group therapist said you were both involved in the Hotten Bypass pile up last year. Aaron was quite badly hurt in that, wasn’t he?” Barry said, and Robert nodded. “That’s a lot to go through. Who was supporting you while you were supporting Aaron?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who needed help. I liked being there for Aaron, it felt good.”

“It’s still hard, seeing loved ones going through traumatic events,” Barry said slowly. “I’m getting the impression that you draw a lot of self-worth from your relationship with Aaron.”

“So?” Robert asked, not quite meeting his gaze. He knew what the doctor was getting at.

Barry regarded him for a long moment. “What happens when he’s not around?”

-

He’d been on the ward for a week. Vic hadn’t returned, though she and Diane rung every couple of days. He’d told them not to visit, so he had no right to get upset when they didn’t. They promised they hadn’t told Aaron, who was still living it up in Europe.

He did, however, have the pleasure of seeing Aaron’s new boyfriend, the illustrious Dr Mason, who definitely did not use the hospital as his dating pool. Robert was wandering around the day room, contemplating how quickly Nurse Ratched would descend on him if he started banging his head against the wall, when movement at the double door caught his eye. Mason was there with a clipboard, discussing something with a nurse. Robert planted his feet and stared at him until Mason felt the weight of his gaze and glanced over. They locked eyes for a long moment.

“Robert?” Gareth piped up behind him. “Hey, Robbo, _Neighbours_ is about to start.”

He looked around at him, frowning. “If you call me that again, you’ll know about my psychotic episodes,” he said, which only got a grin from Gareth. When he looked back at the doors, Mason had scarpered.

The nurses gave him a questionnaire to fill out before his next meeting with Barry. Questions included _do you believe others are out to get you_ , _do you have trouble maintaining friendships_ , and _did you hurt animals as a child_ – yes, yes, and no underlined twice respectively. Christ, he remembered crying the first time he realised the roast chicken on the table was one of the hens that he’d watched cluck and peck at the ground in the chicken coop. He wasn’t _that_ much of a psycho.

There were a lot of questions relating to paranoia; yes to all of those. He was starting to get the picture.

-

“Robert,” Barry said. They had been sitting in silence for a few minutes, Robert chewing on his thumb nail – his nails were looking fairly disgusting these days. 

“I’m bored out of my skull in here,” he said.

Barry smiled. “What do you normally do when you’re bored?”

“Something crazy,” he said, feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the twitch of disapproval it garnered from Barry. “I made my ex-father-in-law think we’d slept together,” he added suddenly, if only to gauge the reaction it got.

Barry’s eyebrows went up and he blinked a couple of times. “I see,” he said slowly.

“We didn’t, I just made him think we had so that I could--” Blackmail was a word he thought he should probably avoid using. “--manipulate him into giving me a share of his business.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Already bought thirty percent of the business through a third party; get another twenty five percent off him to keep me ‘quiet’, I’d have the controlling share of the business.”

“But it didn’t work?”

He shook his head. “Went psycho before I could close the deal.”

Barry pursed his lips in disapproval. “Why do you want control of the business?”

“I deserve it,” he said. “I worked for him before I met his daughter, worked hard to build the company up when it was going down the tubes. We got on really well at first, he said one day I’d be a partner, but when I started dating Chrissie, he dropped all that.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“I guess what he liked about me as a salesman, he didn’t like as a person. He always thought he was morally superior to me somehow. He used me as his attack dog when he wanted something doing but didn’t want the blame, and I was happy to do it until I realised he never had any intention of following through on his promises.”

“Were you hurt by that? You’ve told me before that your relationship with your own father wasn’t very good.”

Robert knew what he was getting at, that Lawrence was some kind of substitute father to him, which made the thought of them sleeping together even more revolting. “Nah, I just like fucking with people,” he said, and smiled, a little too brightly, maybe. “Makes me happy.”

Barry hummed and wrote something down, wrote for long enough that Robert wondered if that was the end of his session. He’d only been in for about fifteen minutes, and normally he’d ramble on for at least three quarters of an hour. It was fine, though, it wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to be here. He opened his mouth to say as much as Barry lifted his head.

“I’d like to discuss diagnoses,” he said. “Do you know what Cluster B personality disorders are?”

The next ten minutes were wildly uncomfortable. Unstable relationships, attention-seeking behaviour, inappropriate sexual behaviour, narcissism, dramatic thinking; it sounded like he had a bit of everything. Barry was gentle with him, but Robert still wanted to bolt and indulge in some of that inappropriate behaviour just to forget for a little while.

“Robert,” Barry said kindly, “suffering from a personality disorder can be very stressful and distressing for the sufferer, there’s no shame in that. It can exacerbate the symptoms of depression.”

Well, at least there was one thing not to feel ashamed about, he thought bitterly.

Barry took a breath. “I’d like to start you on low doses of antidepressants and antipsychotics.” 

“Antipsychotics?” he repeated.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Barry said with a smile.

“Well, it sounds pretty bad,” Robert muttered, but didn’t bother to fight it. He didn’t really have the energy these days and maybe he didn’t have the drive, either.

Barry said a lot of comforting words, smiled sympathetically, and sent him on his way with a new prescription hanging over his head that was quickly dispensed by one of the nurses.

The combination fairly knocked him out for a couple of days, and when he was more with it he complained to the nurses about the dry mouth, nausea, and dizziness, but they said that was normal. As if any of this was normal, as if him being trapped in a nut house was _business as fucking usual_. Remonstrating on this point with the nurses didn’t do him much good, though. 

And then, suddenly, he was being discharged, with a follow up appointment as an outpatient, a referral for psychotherapy, and a handful of pills. Vic would be round in the morning to pick him up.

“Not enough beds,” Gareth said, _Come Dine With Me_ on in the background of the day room.

“Yeah,” Robert said, pulling his thumbnail from between his teeth. He’d got down to the nail bed, the taste of blood coppery on his tongue.

“It’s all right to be worried,” he added.

Robert glanced at him without turning his head. “Worried about what?”

“Leaving,” Gareth said, gesturing at the faded yellow paintwork. “It’s, like, one of them safe places, innit? Sucks not to feel safe.”

Robert looked over at him, but the kid was staring very hard at the telly, his fingers tracing over a black scab on the back of his hand.

-

The drive home was excruciating. He’d done his best to clean up for his glorious return, shaved the patchy shit on his face that could laughingly be called a ‘beard’, dressed in jeans and a nice shirt (though the jeans felt a bit snug; the nutritional standard of the food on the ward was a fucking joke), styled his hair a bit, but his image was forever tarnished. Vic eyed him carefully as he was signed out, nervously regarding the paper bag of pills he held between his fingers, and made the lightest of conversation on the way back. Wasn’t it a nice day today? It’d rained yesterday but now it was sunny. It was still warm enough to get away without a coat, but no topping up the tan, ha ha.

“Vic,” he said, too sharply, when the topic of weather became too much to bear.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, and didn’t speak the rest of the way. 

He didn’t think he’d spoken out of turn, been any ruder than he normally was – him and Vic could be pretty rough on each other, it never used to be a problem – but he had to second guess himself on everything now. He’d always be second guessing himself.

There weren’t people out on the street when they pulled up to Keeper’s, just Bob milling around outside the café, Laurel hurrying home with her head down. Robert got out of the car and tried not to fidget as Vic locked the doors and fiddled around in her bag. It felt like she was taking forever, specifically doing it to wind him up, but that was his paranoia talking, he guessed; that or his anxiety, psychosis, or whatever else Barry had pronounced him as having.

Harriet came out of her house and started crossing the road towards them. Robert already knew he was going to get the Nice Vicar talk, where she gently asked him how he was feeling and assured him that no one judged him. That mightn’t have been the case if they knew all he cared about when Harriet was stabbed was that his part in the whole weed debacle didn’t come out. Even a woman of God would have trouble forgiving that, he thought.

“Vic,” he murmured.

“Just a sec, left my phone in the car,” she said, and unlocked it again.

Robert clenched his fists and held his breath as Harriet approached, but she only nodded and raised her hand in a wave as she passed, and he tried to incline his head back in a friendly way. Not so bad after all.

The floaty movement of chiffon and other drapey material caught his eye; of course she would be here now, stepping out of the pub, of course she would always be everywhere he was. He felt that heady mixture of humiliation and disgust flush through him at the sight of Rebecca blinking anxiously at him from across the road. His pulse began to race, sweat immediately making his shirt stick to his back. He wrenched his gaze from her and ran to the door. He knew he had a set of keys on him somewhere, somewhere in the depths of his backpack, and practically ripped it open to dig through the contents. He was a half second away from dumping everything out on the ground when Vic hurried past and opened the door for him. 

He stumbled in, listing to the side to lean against the wall, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Distantly, he could hear Vic asking him questions, if he needed anything, if she should call anyone – call the hospital to take him back, she meant. Among his paper bag of pharmaceuticals, he had, ironically enough, some diazepam that he could take if his anxiety got too bad. He wasn’t meant to take them if he could avoid it, though, since Barry cautioned him that it could have the opposite effect and make him more uptight. What was the fucking point of anxiety medication if it was only going to make things worse?

He felt her lightly touch his arm and resisted shrugging her off. “Can I have a glass of water?” he mumbled.

“Yes!” she quickly. “Yeah, I’ll, uh--”

He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, which was enough to spur Vic into movement. He closed his eyes as he heard her footsteps hurry away and then back again half a minute later.

“Here you-- here you go,” she said softly.

He opened his eyes and took it from her. “Thanks,” he muttered, and took a sip.

She sat down on the stairs opposite him and sighed. “Better?” she asked.

_No_ , he thought, he was _never_ going to be better. He was never going to go back to seeing himself the way he did before, as whole and normal, his peculiarities simply character flaws and not something pathological.

“Yeah.”

She stretched out and knocked her foot against his leg sprawled out across the floor. “We’ll get through this, like we did before, when you were shot.”

When he was shot: the last time he felt this fearful and alone. Only, he had reason to be scared then, a mysterious spectre lurking in the village wanting to see him dead. What did he have to be scared of now? A baby he didn’t want? A husband who didn’t want him? He clutched the cold glass between his hands and nodded.

-

He went for a lie down after that and slept until evening. He hadn’t meant to, but once his head hit the pillow, he was out for the count. He blew straight through lunch, and woke up at five, disoriented and thirsty. He wasn’t hungry, despite the small breakfast at the unit, but the nurses said that was normal with the medication he was on. He dragged himself up and went to the bathroom, cupping his hands under the tap to drink some water, then washed and dried his face. He looked a sight, sallow and drawn. He hardly recognised himself, really, he didn’t look like himself any more. He looked like some shadow, some sad sack you’d see on the street corner or propping up the bar.

Voices drew him away from the mirror. Vic talking, soft and anxious, Adam’s voice coming reply. Robert opened the door a crack and listened.

“ _You haven’t told him yet?_ ” Adam asked. A pang shook in Robert’s stomach.

“ _I couldn’t,_ ” Vic replied. “ _I can’t load him down with anything else. He’s not… you know, he’s not like he was, he completely freaked out earlier when he saw Rebecca. God, it’s all so awful, I’m sorry._ ”

“ _It’s all right, babe,_ ” Adam said. There was a long pause where he imagined they were hugging. “ _I better be off, wanna go see Mum again. See you tomorrow?_ ”

“ _Yeah, tomorrow. Thanks, Adam._ ”

He heard the front door click shut and jumped back from the bathroom door.

“Rob?” Vic called up, and his heart hammered, a wild fear that she knew he’d been listening, that she could see him somehow welling up inside of him. “Tea’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

He didn’t reply and heard her sigh to herself and walk away. He waited a few minutes, frozen in the bathroom, but he knew she’d come up and fetch him eventually and he didn’t want her to come up here and catch him like this, so he took a deep breath and opened the door.

-

He couldn’t get hardly any of his tea down. Vic had made the plainest thing imaginable, pasta with a bit of butter and salt, but he wasn’t even halfway through it and couldn’t take another bite. That was partly the medication and partly the anxiety that gripped his stomach. What was she keeping from him? Was it Aaron? Had he decided to stay out in Europe? Had he got back together with Ed, the hot rugby player Robert never had a chance measuring up to? Was it that doctor? Were they getting serious?

“Tell me what’s going on,” he blurted out into the silence of the kitchen. Vic had finished her tea and was at the sink, washing up. She stopped when he spoke, going still.

“It’s Aaron, isn’t it? Is he leaving? Selling up? Him and _Alex_ moving in together? You can’t keep this from me, Vic. I know you think I’m crazy, but you can’t--”

“Stop!” she said sharply, and spun around from the sink, soap suds dripping from her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed and teary. “Stop. It’s got nothing to do with Aaron.”

He took a deep breath and stood up. She looked like she was on the precipice of crying, her bottom lip wobbling a little. She wiped her hands on a tea towel hanging through a drawer handle and breathed shakily.

“What’s going on?” Robert repeated, making his voice soft. “Vic?”

“It’s-- it’s Finn,” she murmured, and wiped at her nose. “He died.”

“What? When?”

“Last week, while you were--” She shook her head. “It was Emma, she, she went nuts. Attacked Moira in one of the barns at Butler’s while Moira was going into labour.”

Robert blinked. “Going into…? What? Since when was she pregnant?”

“Exactly,” Vic said, and smiled quickly. “She didn’t know. Emma… Emma killed James. She pushed him off the bridge. It was her fault. It was all her fault. Adam went after her, she shot at him, but she hit Finn. She didn't know, none of us did... until later.”

“Jesus, Vic,” Robert said and crossed the small kitchen to gather her up in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she murmured into his chest.

He pulled back and looked down at her. “You could’ve told me.”

“I couldn’t,” she said. “You were in a terrible way. You were going nuts with the security guards, I couldn’t…”

“That’s when it happened?”

“The day before,” she said softly. “They rushed Finn into surgery, but…”

“God,” he said, and hugged her again. “I’m sorry.”

She clutched at his shirt. “Weren’t your fault.”

He begged to differ on that. He’d set something in motion the moment he sent Rebecca that text, just like Emma had set all this in motion, a chain reaction that lasted months.

“It was Emma’s fault that we--” He stopped for a second to gather his thoughts. “It was her fault we ended up in the quarry.” The thought of it left him reeling, suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of water all around him, struggling to keep his nose and mouth in the rapidly decreasing pocket of air, the fear in Aaron’s voice – real fear that he hadn’t heard since his mother screaming for help in a burning barn. He gasped out one breath, then another, and Vic clutched at his sides, guiding him over to the couch.

“It’s okay,” she said, and he felt her hands patting down his hair. “It’s okay.”

He tipped his head back against the cushions and tried his best to get a grip. “Where is she now?”

“She killed herself,” Vic said, her eyes shiny with tears when he looked at her.

He swallowed heavily - best thing for her, probably - and wiped at Vic's wet cheeks. “Christ, we’re a pair, aren’t we?”

She laughed thickly and sniffed. “I should tell, just so's you don't get a shock tomorrow morning - me and Adam's back on, and he's moved back in, though he's not around much at the moment.”

“Good,” he said, and took her hand when she looked at him sceptically. At least one of them could get a happy ending now. “Really. I'm happy for you, both of you.”

-

He couldn’t stay asleep that night. He’d taken his medication before bed because they made him drowsy, but even that couldn’t quiet the thoughts and dreams rolling around in his head. His dreams of drowning or burning were florid and intense and jerked him out of sleep multiple times, until his eyes felt swollen and gritty. In the moments when he was halfway lucid, he thought about the chain reaction, about what would have changed if James hadn’t fallen from the bridge. The car in front of them wouldn’t have swerved, Aaron wouldn’t have lost control of the car, no cardiac arrest. Robert would have proposed proper, no hospitals. Maybe he wouldn’t have let Rebecca kiss him, maybe he wouldn’t have thought he could play both sides – a beneficial friendship with Rebecca and a relationship with Aaron he couldn’t live without, maybe Aaron wouldn’t have assaulted Kasim, maybe Robert would be at home in his own bed right now, comfortable not knowing about attachment disorders and clusters and inappropriate sexual behaviour.

If Emma hadn’t done what she did, maybe Robert wouldn’t have destroyed his entire life.

It took him three attempts to get out of bed in the morning – because at 11.45am, it was still technically the morning. He tried to do his teeth and succeeded only in bringing up some bile. He couldn’t stand the thought of stepping into the shower, so he just washed his face and applied a liberal coat of deodorant. He also couldn’t be bothered to dress up and dug out a pair of trackie bottoms and a t-shirt.

“Oh Robert,” Vic said when she saw him. Her eyes were wide and sad and he couldn’t bear looking at her.

“I didn’t sleep much,” he mumbled and shuffled to the couch.

“I heard you tossing and turning,” she said. “I’ll make you some breakfast, what do you want?”

“Um…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose and shrugged. “Whatever. Toast.”

“Jam? Butter?”

“No, just dry.”

“You sure?”

He looked over the back of the couch at her. “It’s all I can stomach, Vic.”

She nodded quickly. “All right.”

She tried to insist she’d take the day off work, but he told her to stop fussing and go in. He’d had enough of being monitored while he was in the unit, the best thing about coming home should have been the privacy. She still wasn’t pleased at the thought of him being alone, but he promised her that all he was going to do was watch daytime telly and sleep. She left at midday and he settled in for a couple of hours of property shows. He slept intermittently, leaving puddles of drool on the armrests, before rousing enough to realise he was actually hungry. He went in search of something sweet to eat, but Vic didn’t have much in, no biscuits or chocolate bars.

He’d have to go out, he decided. He’d have to get something to eat. He could buy his own food, he wasn’t a child.

But what if _she_ was out there? What if the whole White family was out there, waiting for him? What if she had more classes for him to go to? He stood frozen in the living room, his thoughts clipping along at speed.

He banged the heel of his hand into his forehead and grasped at his hair, pulling it tight enough to hurt. “Get a fucking grip,” he whispered, and forced himself to start moving, grabbed his keys, and went out the door.

There weren’t many people around on Main Street, an odd quiet having come over the village, so the walk to David’s wasn’t that bad. A few heads swivelled when he went inside and he heard some whispered conversation as he picked up a basket and started trawling the aisles. David and Tracy looked up, but for once, Tracy didn’t seem interested in the gossip of the moment. Maybe Robert wasn’t the gossip of the moment anyway, maybe Finn had won that cursed prize.

He had no idea where to start. It was funny – he used to feel vaguely scornful of this place and the meagre items David stocked, he used to wish the village had a Sainsbury’s Local or Tesco Express, so that he could at least have a little more range to choose from, but now the selection was too much. There were too many choices and he found himself staring hard at the biscuit aisle. Maybe he should get milk? Or eggs? There were too many brands of biscuits on the shelf, he couldn’t remember what he liked. McVities? Fox’s? Cadbury? Mr Kipling?

“Robert?” 

He jerked around at the soft voice and light touch to his arm. Belle was standing there, watching him carefully.

“How are you?” she asked.

He looked at her, then down at his empty basket and frowned. “I didn’t even bring my wallet,” he muttered.

“Why don’t we go sit down and get something to eat?”

He glanced back up at her. “Why?”

She smiled warmly. “Because you need it.”

She sat him down at one of the tables and ordered tea and cake from David, who didn’t do a great job of pretending not to stare at Robert as he brought over the order.

“Thank you,” Belle said cheerfully and David cleared his throat quickly and scarpered back to his vantage point at the counter. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmured, picking at the cake with his fork. 

“Well, I know what it’s like,” she said, still smiling. She did, didn’t she? She knew exactly what this felt like, she knew it better than him. He hadn’t really cared when she went missing, he hadn’t offered to pay for a private facility when Aaron told him she was going to have to go to a hospital down in Surrey, just like he hadn’t offered to pay for treatment that could save his niece’s life. Belle had thought she was responsible for Katie’s death somehow, Aaron had once screamed at him; maybe that had been the trigger. Maybe if Robert hadn’t killed Katie, Belle wouldn’t have gone on her downward spiral. Everything was maybe these days.

“I’m glad they could help you,” she continued. He frowned a little at that and she tipped her head to the side. “I was the one who called the ambulance.”

“You were there?” She nodded and he looked down at his cup of tea. “I didn’t even remember you being there. You convinced Lachlan not to press charges?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know the signs of a, you know, of a breakdown. Prison doesn’t make anyone healthier.”

That was putting it lightly, he thought, thinking, as always, of Aaron. “They diagnosed me with a bunch of personality disorders,” he said, and rubbed at his forehead. “Apparently I’m not just a prick.”

She laughed a little. “How are you feeling now?”

“Awful,” he said. He felt awful in a different way than he did before; he felt hollowed out and broken down where before he’d been humming with anxious energy and a desire for revenge so out of control it blotted out any good sense he had left. “They put me on pills and I can’t eat.”

She didn’t look at all surprised to hear he was on medication. Maybe that fact was pretty obvious right now. “That’s normal,” she said. “Give it a couple of weeks and you should start to feel more like yourself again.”

“I don’t know that I do wanna feel like myself again,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she said, and sighed. “I know what that’s like too.”

-

He didn’t try to go out again until Vic was due to drive him to his first therapy appointment a couple of days later. Belle had told him he could call her if he wanted to talk, an odd and yet not unwelcome offer that he nevertheless didn’t think he’d ever take her up on.

In another time, he would have insisted on going to the appointment alone, but now he didn’t completely trust himself behind a wheel and anxiety gnawed at his stomach at the thought that he had to see someone knew. Barry didn’t see outpatients, but Robert had been assured that this woman, Bethany something, was just as good.

She was fine, twenty years on him with a gentle voice like a kind schoolteacher, but he felt himself clam up and couldn’t get much out. He talked about Finn dying and worrying about Vic, but resisted her attempts to move him back onto the topic of himself. He didn’t really know why – he’d hated being in the unit, thought constantly about when he’d be rid of Barry, but now it was almost as if he wanted to be back there. He sloped back out after an unproductive forty five minutes and Vic drove them home with a stop off at Costa to force a paper cup of hot chocolate on him, insisting it would make him feel better. She wasn’t wrong.

They pulled up outside Keeper’s gone one, and he got out of the car, crushing the empty paper cup in his hand.

“I was thinking of making a quiche for lunch. Do you think you could eat some?”

“Anything’s possible,” he said, and looked around as a taxi pulled up across the road. He knew it a moment before he saw him, Aaron getting out with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. He wasn’t meant to be back yet. He had a deep tan, looked beautiful and healthy. Looked nothing like he ever had when they were together, not in the bad times or the so-called good.

“Crap,” Vic murmured behind him.

Aaron looked up and frowned. Robert knew what he was thinking, he knew how to read Aaron’s face, he always did, even when he tried to pretend to himself that he didn’t see Aaron breaking apart in front of him. Robert again hadn’t bothered to dress nicely, his hair was greasy, his skin had a grey sheen to it; Aaron was thinking that Robert looked a state, that something must be wrong. Robert would be even more of a fool than he was if he’d really thought he could keep all this from Aaron, but the thought of confessing it out here on the street was too much to bear. His heart started to beat faster, his hands twitching with latent energy.

Aaron crossed over the road and Vic sighed and briefly touched Robert’s arm.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied, though he kept his eyes Robert, his brow still creased in confusion. “How’s-- how’s everything?”

“Well, you know,” she said, and smiled quickly. “They’re releasing his body today.”

Aaron’s gaze finally moved to her. “Yeah, Adam said. I’m going to go up and see him after I drop my bags off.”

“We weren’t expecting you back until next week.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Didn’t feel like sunning myself much after he told me. Wish he’d told me sooner.”

“He said the signal on your phone was bad.”

“Yeah,” Aaron agreed, eyes sliding back to Robert. “Are you okay?”

Robert had been standing stock still the entire time, aside from his hands, which continued to twitch of their own accord. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Vic’s small hand slipped around his wrist and he looked down at her.

“Do you wanna go inside?” she said softly. “I’ll… talk to Aaron.”

He nodded and took the keys she pressed into his hand.

“Rob?” Aaron said, as he turned away and clumsily unlocked the door.

He stepped inside and slammed it shut without looking back, stood for a moment with his back pressed to the door, then went down the hall to the kitchen and drank an entire glass of water, ate six Digestives in quick succession – hey, at least he was eating something – and forced his nerves to stop jangling. They did, to a degree, enough from him to creep into the living room and peer around the net curtains. Aaron was facing the house, his arms crossed, eyes wide and worried. He spoke a couple of times – short, tense sentences, Vic responding with shrugs and hand gestures – before looking up at the window. Robert retreated out of view and sat down on the couch, turning the telly on.

Vic stayed outside ten more minutes before knocking to be let in. He did, turning his body into the door to avoid being seen from the road.

“He’s gone, don’t worry,” she said.

“You told him?”

She closed the door behind her and nodded. “Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much,” she said. “Er, he seemed confused.”

“What’s there to be confused about? It’s not like he hasn’t called me a psycho before.”

She winced. “I don’t know, I guess it was a lot to take in at once.”

Robert knew; seemed like Aaron had always had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that Robert had any feelings and he hadn’t been the only one, everyone seemed perplexed at the idea that Robert might struggle with the break up. The only time he’d actually felt someone understood was with Emma and what a fucking comment that was on their respective psyches. 

Not that Robert had made it easy on anyone. His resilience and lack of emotions were a badge of honour pinned to his chest; no matter what was thrown at him, he never went down. Physically, he might not have been the strongest guy around, not handy with his fists and hesitant around violence, but mentally, he was rock solid.

He wondered what Aaron and Vic would think of him if they’d known him before Mum died. Vic, of course, had been six when Mum died, but he was sure all his later actions had blotted out any early good memories she had of him. He didn’t think he’d been this way before, despite Pat dying and not having bonded with a parent as a baby and all that other guff. He remembered crying when he was sad, running around breathlessly when he was happy; he remembered crying until he was sick before Mum’s funeral, wanting to tear himself apart in his gran’s box room in her villa in Spain when he’d had to get away from Andy. _He_ had been the one to leave, despite Andy’s crimes, and when he returned, he was changed. Dulled around the edges. Vicious, calculating, manipulative, and any other word people around these parts liked to throw at him.

He’d lied so well to himself all these years, how could he blame anyone else for falling for it too?

“I’ll start on that quiche?” Vic said, and smiled tentatively.

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry any more. Going to bed.”

-

The funeral was a week later, on a Friday. Robert didn’t go, no surprise there, but Vic and almost everyone else in the village did. She fretted about leaving him, but he told her to focus on Finn and on herself today, that he was feeling okay. Truth be told, Belle had been right that the medication would level out. He was eating better and didn’t feel quite so leaden down, though he still felt dazed every now and then and lost his train of thought more often than he’d like. 

He watched the hearse drive through from his bedroom window, followed by all the villagers dressed in black. He could make out Ross and Pete, both their faces ashen and shell-shocked. He’d never liked either of them, hated Ross, of course, but he felt a pang anyway. He remembered how it felt to be standing out there, surrounded by your all neighbours yet completely alone.

When the procession was safely out of sight, he went out. The village had practically shut its doors, only the pub open in preparation for the wake. It said a lot about Finn; Robert didn’t think he’d get this kind of treatment when it was finally his time to shuffle off.

With everyone at the cemetery, it was easier to walk around without that ripple of anxiety go through him. He hadn’t seen Aaron since he came back, through mutual avoidance, he thought, and he’d only seen Rebecca through his bedroom window. She was big now, about to pop. It made him sick to think about.

He walked up past the Mill, fixing his eyes resolutely on the ground as he passed, trying to forget Rebecca, the fights, Aaron and his new boyfriend at the door, the cozy family barbecue. Wasn’t any of his business any more. He crossed over the bridge to the cricket pitch and sat down on the steps of the pavilion. He smiled to himself – didn’t they all end up here in the end?

It had rained this morning, the grass still wet and water seeping in around the sides of his trainers. He’d dressed better today, a thin jumper, jacket, and jeans, but he still didn’t see himself when he looked in the mirror.

He started chewing on his thumbnail again, gnawing at the skin around the sides. It throbbed when he left it alone, but when he was actively biting, it didn’t hurt at all.

“Hey.”

He looked up at Liv, standing a few feet away with her chin held up as if in defiance. “Hi.”

She glanced around, her gaze sliding from left to right before settling back on him. “So, you’re crazy now?”

He snorted. “According to the doctors, I’ve been crazy the whole time.”

“I could’ve told them that,” she said with a sarcastic smile.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you could. What are you doing out here? Didn’t go to the funeral?”

“Didn’t really know him, did I?” she said, and rubbed her foot over the grass. “Saw you passing the Mill, wanted to make sure you didn’t try to drown yourself in the ford.”

He smiled for a moment, but realised with a jolt that she wasn’t joking, the look on her face both guarded and vulnerable, just like Aaron when he was worried. He gestured to the space beside him on the step.

“I’m not suicidal, don’t worry,” he said, as she sat down beside him. She nodded quickly and glanced away. “How’s everything going?”

She shrugged. “Fine. I’m back at school. Maths is worse than ever, though. Aaron’s no help.”

“You didn’t tell him that I used to do your homework for you, did you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “He probably knows anyway, pretends not to.”

They’d all pretended not to know things. Months of pretending. “How is he?”

“He’s… okay,” she said hesitantly.

“Happy with his new boyfriend?” Robert said, bitterness suddenly searing through him.

“You what?”

“Dr Wonderful. You’ll have a new brother-in-law soon enough,” he added, then squeezed his eyes shut. This was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do any more. “Sorry. It’s good that he’s happy.”

“You div,” she said, and he looked at her quickly. Her nose was screwed up in offensive. “He’s not dating Alex, they barely had _one_ date. Aaron thought he was dead boring.”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice small. She rolled her eyes in answer. “You didn’t make it sound that way in David’s.”

“I was angry with you.”

“Right,” he said, and stuck his ragged nail between his front teeth for a moment, peeling off a small strip before he dropped his hand again. “You were right about me lying.”

“I know,” she said, like he was stupid. He was. “ _I’m_ not the crazy one here. You were horrible.”

He turned to her, turned his whole upper body towards her and tried to really focus on her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

She pursed her lips. “So why did you?”

“Had to keep her on side. Thought I had to, anyway.”

“Were you sleeping with her again?”

He flinched and drew his legs closer to chest. “No! Christ, I wouldn’t ever touch her again.” Except he had, he had his hands all over her stomach at that ridiculous class and the mere memory of it made him sick.

“So…?” Liv prompted.

“I wanted to-- I wanted to con them out of Home Farm, the business and the house.”

“How?”

“It’s probably better you don’t know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Something to do with drugging Lawrence with diazepam?” she asked, and laughed when he looked at her in surprise. “Come on, I’m not five. Aaron made up some rubbish about you slipping Lawrence his much needed medication in his drink because he was such an alcoholic, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Doesn’t take five minutes to find out online that booze and sleeping pills don’t mix.”

He took a moment to reply, only mustering a, “yeah.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Why not?” he replied. So much of his life had been ‘why not?’. Why not have an affair, and another one and another one? Why not blackmail someone? Why not stab someone in the back?

Liv accepted the answer with a tip of the head, like she understood it. Maybe she did. She had a bit of the devil in her, as his gran would say, same as him. He chewed at his lip for a moment, as silence stretched between them.

“Horrible what happened to Finn, innit?” she said eventually.

“Yeah,” he said, and after a moment put his arm around her shoulders. She let him.

-

He couldn’t stay inside forever. Well. He _could_ , but then he’d have to add agoraphobia to his medical records and those were growing fatter by the day. He was coddled by Vic and Diane when he did venture out, even Adam hovered awkwardly and asked if he was okay. That was probably only to stay in Vic’s good books, though. Liv threw some barbed comments at him that made everyone else stare aghast and him smile, and Belle was, as ever, unfailingly kind.

He even managed to stand a few hours in the pub every now and then. He couldn’t drink on the medication, but at least he could eat again. He hadn’t done work of any stripe in weeks, but even Nicola wilted under the glare of Vic and Jimmy smiled sympathetically. He wouldn’t be so sympathetic if he knew who Robert really was.

He was doing okay, he was almost getting the hang of it again, being a person.

And then the Whites streamed into the pub en masse.

Even Charity looked a bit nervous, which must have been a first.

__“Are they having a laugh?” Vic muttered, shoving her chair back to stand. He grabbed for her hand and gave it a tug._ _

__“Leave it, all right?”_ _

__She looked back, mouth pursed, then settled back. “Fine. But they’re taking the piss.”_ _

__“It’s their home too, isn’t it?” he muttered._ _

__“It’s _our_ home,” she said, “they’re just the toffs up at Home Farm.”_ _

__A few months ago, he would have loved to hear her say that, have that much loyalty towards him. Now, it didn’t amount to much. Lachlan sneered at him as he went up to the bar to get a drink but, to Robert’s great satisfaction, he was sporting a faded black eye and healing split lip. Robert did get at least one good crack at him, then._ _

__“Lucky!” Lawrence called sharply, when Lachlan lingered too long staring at Robert. Lawrence looked worried and on edge, like now Robert was certified insane, he could do anything, he could stand up on the bar and shout to the heavens that the right honourable Lawrence White had porked Robert Sugden in the manor house._ _

__Rebecca looked wide-eyed and alarmed at Robert’s mere presence. That, at least, went both ways, much like Robert himself._ _

__He drank the last of his lemonade and stood up. Rebecca twitched in her seat and Chrissie and Lachlan looked ready for a fight._ _

__“Let’s just go, eh?” he murmured._ _

__“Oh, Robert,” she said on a sigh._ _

__He shrugged and glanced around as Aaron and Adam came through the door. “No point being in a pub if you can’t drink, right? You stay, have fun.”_ _

__“Rob,” she said, a pleading note in her voice._ _

__“It’s fine, bet Adam needs you, anyway.” He started walking before she could argue any more, brushing past Aaron as quickly as possible. He could feel eyes on him, but didn’t give into the temptation of looking up._ _

__There was a gale whipping up outside, blowing his hair flat to his forehead, his jacket rippling with the force of it. Brittle orange leaves skittered along the pavement as he walked and he felt a certain satisfaction when he caught one under his shoe and it crackled._ _

__He turned the telly on when he got back, flicking through the channels before coming to rest on one at random. He got a packet of biscuits from the kitchen and blew through them as he vacantly watched the TV. Nothing said depression like watching _Flog It!_ at five thirty on a Wednesday afternoon._ _

__There was a knock at the door as the evening news started. He brushed crumbs from his shirt onto the floor and got up. He assumed it was Vic, forgotten her keys or something, though she wasn’t really the forgetful type, but when he opened the door, Rebecca was staring back at him. He swung the door closed in surprise, but she caught it before it slammed shut, and even he didn’t see the wisdom in forcing a door closed on a heavily pregnant woman._ _

__“Robert,” she said, in that wispy accent that had driven him so insane just a few weeks ago._ _

__“What?” he said, fixing his gaze somewhere beyond her shoulder._ _

__“Can I come in?” Her hands drifted towards her stomach but he resolutely looked ahead._ _

__“No. What do you want?”_ _

__“I wanted-- I need to tell you something,” she said, her words half whispered._ _

__He nodded. “Right.”_ _

__“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she quickly. “I really didn’t, I hope you know that.”_ _

__“Yeah, well, me neither. Last thing I ever wanted to do was get you pregnant.”_ _

__She pursed her lips and looked down, spreading her hands out over her stomach. He couldn’t help but look too, nausea washing over him._ _

__“You didn’t,” she said so quietly, but he heard._ _

__“What,” he said flatly. Peculiarly, his heart rate did not increase._ _

__“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” she said in a despairing tone. “I thought you were going to keep your distance forever, but then you started-- you were happy. You were excited for the baby, you brought me all those leaflets about birthing classes--”_ _

__He barked with laughter and she flinched, taking half a step back. “I was playing you.”_ _

__“You were happy,” she insisted, though her eyes had gone wide, perhaps with dawning realisation._ _

__“I was having a _breakdown_ ,” he said, leaning in a bit closer. “I wanted the business. That burning rag in your client’s car? That was me. All those little things that went wrong? _Me_.”_ _

__She looked horrified, disgusted, like she was seeing him for the first time, not some idealised version of him who was going to run away with her if only it weren’t for her wicked sister, some prince who would ride to her rescue. “Why?” she said. “How?”_ _

__“Because I hate all of you. Remember when you thought you could seduce me into getting back with you by taking over the business together? Wasn’t a bad idea, just didn’t need you for it. If you own a big enough share of the business, you own the business.” At her frown, he grinned. “Maybe you should look into ‘Rug Tree Bonds’ a little bit closer. I loved doing the anagrams in puzzle magazines when I was a kid.”_ _

__Her frown of horror hardened to a glare. “We never slept together.”_ _

__He jerked reflexively and she smiled up at him, worry giving way to bitter anger,he could see it on her face._ _

__“You couldn’t get it up,” she said, glancing down his body quickly. “Don’t think you didn’t try. Then you passed out. I felt sorry for you. I didn’t plan it, but then your sister let slip I was pregnant to Ross and it all came out in front of you and Aaron. It all seemed so perfect.”_ _

__“You bitch.”_ _

__“I could say the same about you,” she replied with a hard smile. “After the abortion, you deserved it.”_ _

__He swallowed heavily. “You never could get your little mind around the idea that I preferred cock to… you, could you? You were still playing fantasy dress up in your head, weren’t you? Picking out the wedding colours.” He took a breath, remembering Aaron’s words. “You’re nothing to me, you never were. And you’re lucky I’m on a lot of medication.”_ _

__Her lip curled. “Threatening me like your ‘husband’?” she said, doing irritating little air quotes with her fingers. “You’re still a cheat, Robert, you always will be, doesn’t matter if you’re with a woman or a… man.”_ _

__He gripped the door hard, knuckles turning white. She looked triumphant in her little shot at him. “You’ll be hearing from my solicitor about that hundred grand I gave you,” he said, and slammed the door in her face, no longer mindful of her presence. Whatever, it wasn’t his to worry about any more._ _

__It was quiet in the house, a faint burble from the TV reporting train strikes and missing people. His heart suddenly slammed against his chest and he staggered over to the stairs, falling down on them heavily. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, and he pressed his forehead to his knees. Here was his chain reaction – he’d set this in motion the moment he’d lured her to the village with vaguely sketched lies about the future; further back, when he’d got her pregnant the first-- the one and only time and harassed her to get the abortion; or even further, when he was half-cut at Chrissie’s thirty second birthday party, feeling shut out and humiliated after a fight with Lawrence, and met Chrissie’s flighty younger sister for the first time._ _

__If he could have stopped at any of those moments, none of this would have happened, Aaron wouldn’t be broken. If Robert could just _stop_ once in his life… Maybe that was how Emma felt._ _

__He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the stairs for, though the news turned to the soaps, and then Vic was coming through the door with Adam, their faces dropping as soon as they saw him._ _

__“Rob?” she said gently, bending down in front of him._ _

__He looked up at Adam – he’d known some real tragedy of late, both fathers dead, a sister, a half-brother, mother terrorised by a crazed aunt. Maybe Robert just needed to stop feeling sorry for himself for once._ _

__“Aaron still at the pub?” he asked._ _

__Vic raised her eyebrows in surprise, clearly not expecting that. “Er, no, he went home.”_ _

__“Right,” he said, and stood up, taking those couple of steps to the front door. Adam shuffled out of his way._ _

__“Robert, your hand’s bleeding,” Vic said behind him._ _

__So it was, he’d done a real number on his thumb. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked the blood off. “I’ll be back later,” he said, and walked away from them._ _

__-_ _

__The walk to the Mill was mere minutes, of course, but it felt like he’d moved into a completely different world. A world where he was crazy and unencumbered by responsibility, somehow freer than he ever had been before, a surface wiped clean._ _

__He didn’t have his keys to the flat, but he knew the code to get in to the common hallway and punched it in. Once, they had dreams of renting out the other flat, making a mint off it and being set up for life. Once, he filled all his time with working on this renovation, working it perfect, making more than perfect. If _it_ was perfect, then he was perfect and _they_ were perfect too._ _

__He knocked on the front door once, then again, harder this time. He could make out a blurred figure through the frosted glass, too small and blonde to be Aaron; Liv._ _

__She looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You look a state,” she said, and opened the door wider. “I’ll be upstairs, then.”_ _

__“Robert?” Aaron said, standing up from the couch. He had a video game paused on the telly and a controller held loosely in his hand. “What-- what’ve you done to your hand?” He dropped the controller and crossed the room to Robert, taking his arm by the wrist to look at the bloody mess. He grimaced. “Jesus, you can see the nail bed. I’ll get the plasters.”_ _

__Aaron turned to the stairs. Robert hadn’t said anything yet and watched as Aaron’s foot fell on the first step._ _

__“It’s not mine,” he said._ _

__Aaron looked over his shoulder. “The blood?”_ _

__“The baby.”_ _

__Aaron took his foot off the step. His face had paled, despite the tan._ _

__“Apparently we never slept together at all,” Robert continued. “She just wanted to hurt me, or love me. Or both.” He was crying a bit, he realised, and wiped at his face with his sleeve. “I’m happy.”_ _

__Aaron turned on his heel back to him, his brow marred by a deep frown. “Are you?”_ _

__“Happy as I get right now,” Robert said, and tipped the corner of his mouth up. “It’s not really her fault, in the end. It’s mine. I know that, I know it’s mine.”_ _

__“Liv told me what you were doing up at Home Farm,” Aaron said. “I mean, I already knew, but it was nice to have confirmation.”_ _

__“Probably know me better than I know myself,” Robert said. _Especially_ these days._ _

__“Probably,” he agreed._ _

__Robert started to cry again, the wave of relief and misery crashing into him. What he must have looked like, bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. Aaron heaved a sigh, his shoulders dropping from the force of it, and walked over, wrapping his arms around him._ _

__Robert could have melted straight into him, straight into the floor, but he held himself up, held himself together best he could as Aaron stroked his hand over the back of his hair. Liv was almost certainly listening to all of this, maybe peering around the banisters to watch. She’d tease him mercilessly, probably blackmail him over it, too. He could hope, anyway._ _

__Aaron drew back after a couple of minutes, though he kept his hand in Robert’s hair. “You gonna tell me everything, then?”_ _

__“It’s a crazy story,” Robert warned._ _

__Aaron wiped his thumb over Robert’s wet cheek. “I bet.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> *Finn dies.
> 
> I've revised this fic multiple times because I wanted it to at least be canon compliant when posted - I guess it kind of is and kind of isn't at this point, but I didn't want to hold onto it any longer. As an aside, I can't figure out how people keep coming to Aaron's door and knocking on it since there's obviously an interior hallway beyond it (I'll venture to say that neither do the writers!), so entry code it is, for Robert at least.


End file.
